


Dreadful Sorry, Clementine

by thisiswherethefishlives



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Background Edward Riesen, Background relationship with Edward Riesen, Eviction, Mentions of Alex and Claire, Other, Possession, Symbiotic Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:08:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3846919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisiswherethefishlives/pseuds/thisiswherethefishlives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wife and angel, Clementine and <i>other</i> - intrinsically linked in mind, body, and soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreadful Sorry, Clementine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [knucklewhite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knucklewhite/gifts).



She opens her eyes to screaming ( _get out of my head, get  out, get out, get out_ ).

Alone in the room, she takes a cautious first step on wobbly legs ( _like a faun, like Bambi_ ) and follows it up quickly with another. It's a strange feeling to wear this skin, but all at once she can understand the appeal, can understand on the deepest of levels why everyone was clambering for a body of their own ( _it's not your own, it's not_ ).

There was a time when her mission had been all that mattered, but that was before.

Standing before a mirror, ornate and gilded, she takes in the long, dark hair and the black, black eyes made darker by the pale skin that is now hers ( _it's not, it's not, it's not_ ) and she thinks that this is what beauty is.

There's a moment, a perfect moment of peace as the voice inside her head becomes a murmur, and all she can do is trace the black veins that cover her skin. She traces them reverently, with a level of awe that before had been saved for Father alone - but Father is gone, and each black vein she traces means that she is alive and she is whole.

It's only a moment though, because there's a door opening behind her, and there's a man. There's a man, and he looks wrathful, and he will kill her if she doesn't kill him first. There is no question. She will kill him first ( _no, no, no, no, not my Eddie_ ).

She can feel the power thrumming under this new skin, and she knows that this man will be the first of many that she kills. This is her purpose. She will paint her pale, pale skin with the red, red blood of this human man, and she will kill until Father returns because that is what Gabriel has promised. She will make something new of this delicate body, something that is altogether deadly and beautiful - like Gabriel, like Uriel - she will crush the throats of these creatures beneath her until there are only angels left as far as the eye can see.

Pulling a deep breath into these fragile, human lungs, she makes to lunge at this man - this threat - when she's brought to her knees. It's just flashes of this man, younger and beautiful and smiling underneath a bower of green, and there's a girl and she's so, so young, and she doesn't want to care.

She doesn't. Want. To care.

But all of these flashes come with a feeling of warmth that starts small and tight in the middle of her chest, and all she can think is that this is the end because it tears at her. The man is close enough now that she can see the tears tracking down his face, and she finds it odd how even as he prepares to kill her he is so, so weak.

Perhaps it's not something that Father would be proud of, but he's not here right now, hasn't been in awhile. Hands held out in supplication, she does the only thing that she can think of. Pulling from the memories and the warmth and the flashes and the pain, she lets one word fall from her tongue.

"Eddie?!"

* * *

Their Eddie is many things - lover and hero, captor and threat. He is their husband 'til death do they part, in his sickness and their health. He is _everything_ to them, and yet...

He's meticulous in the way that he zips his fly, all brisk motions and efficiency as he presses a kiss to their temple and turns to leave.

Years ago he lay down all pretense, did his best to adapt to his new normal, and it hurt more than he would ever know because they weren't gone. His wife wasn't gone, despite the lengths he went to convince himself otherwise.

No, he refused to believe, to take them as anything beyond face value. He left them alone, locked in this faded, dusty suite, surrounded by baubles that lost their enchantments years ago. He left them, was always leaving them behind - wife and angel, Clementine and _other_ \- intrinsically linked in mind, body, and soul.

They love him. They do, but he still looks at them with loss. Even as he falls apart deep inside of them, sweat on his brow and mumbled endearments tumbling out as they always have, he holds himself back from believing that they are both here... that they are both loving him as best as they know how.

Sunlight streams through the windows, and they can't help but stretch into the warmth like a cat, dangerous muscles flexing beneath fragile skin. The silk bedspread he brought them last time is slick and soft beneath their skin, and for a moment they are taken back to memories of long ago - honeymoon nights and days spent in domestic bliss. It harkens to ages before, to a time spent all electric energy and joy, basking in Father's love. Like water slipping through their fingers, they share pieces of memory in glimpses and spurts, stripping back the layers until there is nothing left to separate them.

They no longer tell him of their days spent together in isolation, not when he is so set on believing that his Clementine is gone. No, they hide their dual nature from him, do their best to please him, to prove to him that they are not the threat he believes them to be.

No, they are no threat to Eddie or the kingdom at his feet. They practice subservience and patience, and they wait for the day when he will trust.

They wait for the day he will bring them their daughter. Their Izzie.

* * *

It feels like she's being split into two, and it's agony. It's agony, and the grip she has on herself, on the other is slipping from her grasp ( _please, I'll do anything, please_ ).

It's more painful than childbirth, more wrenching than the agony of possession, and as much as Claire's presence is working as a balm she can't help but tremble with every fiber of her... of _their_ being. For the first time in years, she feels fear and pain and heartache ( _you'll kill us both, you'll kill us, please_ ), and she doesn't want to be alone.

She can feel the angel's grip, and it's both a comfort and an ache as it is ripped out of her body. The boy - Alex - continues to chant, and it rips at her ( _Izzie! Izzie! Why?_ ). It tears, and she's lost just as much as she's been found.

Flashes of warmth fire through her body as they cling to memories together - thoughts of Eddie, of Father, of their years together, and it's so cold as the angel - _her_ angel is ripped from her body ( _why are you letting him hurt me?_ ). It feels like she's dying, like she's being birthed anew, and it's terrifying. It's horrific as she feels the last tenuous threads between them unravel, and for the first time in years her voice is solely her own.

"Forgive me."


End file.
